Candle
by jarec
Summary: Sometimes, when the one you love is far away and in danger, all you can do is light a candle to guide them home.


Harleen Quinzel sat by the window of her apartment and lit a single white candle. Once the flame was going brightly, she placed the candle, and its holder, on the inside of the window sill. It was a warm, still summer night so she wasn't worried that the flame would go out. Not that HE would really see it, she knew, but it was the thought that mattered.

Harleen- or Harley, as HE called her- was worried. She wasn't sure she'd really done the right thing in letting Him out six days ago. Oh, she knew his arguments and agreed with them completely. There was only so much progress that could be made in an asylum; the road to sanity required a move to sane surroundings. He'd correctly pointed out that the asylum's directors- in complete violation of all medical ethics and their Hippocratic Oaths- would never, ever let him out unless it was in a hearse. She'd even confirmed this by tentatively bringing the idea up to her best friend, Joan Leland. Joan had stared her in the face and calmly asked if she (Harleen) had lost her mind. Parole the Joker?! Never! So, naturally, Harleen had done what any good doctor, concerned for her patient (her beloved patient), would have done. She'd slipped him a lock pick and distracted the guards with some not-so-subtle flirtation. She'd felt dirty batting her eyes at that fat jerk Maxwell, but she'd done it for her patient- for her love.

But then, she'd questioned whether it was right for her to let the Joker out into Gotham City. He was such a sensitive soul, after all, and Gotham was such a harsh town. Her angel could be lost, or hurt, or DEAD! Killed by people who didn't understand that all he wanted to do was make the world happy, to make mankind laugh at it's own ridiculousness. She felt tears creep into her eyes as she thought of her love wandering the streets, alone and friendless, lost in the sea of twisted humanity that was Gotham City.

(Far away, in a run down warehouse on the Gotham City Waterfront, the Joker stalked down a line of hostages. Each was bound and gagged, seated in an electric chair with a look of sheer terror in their eyes. This was the third in a string of mass killings that the media had dubbed 'the Playground Murders'- each killing based around a popular children's game. Previously, he had strangled two people with a jump rope, forced three others to play blind-man's bluff in a construction sight, and killed six in a game of Tazer Tag. The present theme was Musical Chairs- the Joker placed a record on a player, and gleefully told his victims that when the music stopped one of them would die)

Then there was the Batman. Batman! Even the thought of that malicious masked thug set her teeth on edge. He brutalized her angel on a regular basis, ignored his constitutional rights, and was lauded as a hero by the ignorant masses! While the Joker toiled endlessly to amuse and enlighten, and was scorned as a monster. Who knew what that vicious vigilante had planned for her poor, defenseless darling? She could picture the vile brute, hounding his innocent prey down some dark alley, a vicious smile on his face as he pounded the Joker senseless. His cold laughter as the poor man writhed in pain on the filthy pavement.

(The warehouse window shattered, and Batman leaped into the room. With two blows, he incapacitated the Joker's hired muscle. A perfectly aimed batarang sliced through the wire connecting the electric chairs to the main generator. As the hostages sagged in relief, the Joker pulled a pistol from the recesses of his suit jacket, and fired off three rounds at his enemy. Two bullets whizzed past the Dark Knight, but a third grazed his armored cowl and while it did no real damage, it's impact sent the vigilante to his knees. The Joker advanced on his temporarily helpless foe, cackling evilly as he withdrew a switchblade)

She'd been worrying this way for days, from the moment the Joker escaped the asylum. She couldn't sleep more than a few hours a night, she couldn't eat, she was slowly falling apart. She'd done her best to keep up appearances at Arkham, but yesterday Joan had sat down with her in the break room and asked her point-blank what was wrong. Thinking fast, Harleen had spun a story of a dear cousin who'd been shipped off to war- that was why she was so worried. She'd expected Joan to sympathize and drop the matter. Instead, she'd told Harleen about her grandmother.

During the Second World War, Mathew Leland had been shipped out to the desert to fight Rommel. His young bride, Amelia, had worried herself sick over him each and every night, until she found something that helped ease her mind. She would light a candle every night, and put it in the window to guide her husband home safely. She knew, rationally, that a small candle wouldn't affect things one way or the other, but it was all she could do- and it made her feel better. And, when Matthew did come home, the first thing he saw as he walked to his house was a bright light welcoming him home. Harleen had been touched by the story, and thanked her friend.

That night Harleen had set out a candle for her Joker; a warm friendly light in the brutal dark cityscape. To her great surprise, it did make her feel a bit better. She still worried about Him, but she knew now that she'd done the best she could, and that at least there was one light out to guide Him to safety.

"I guess it's true what they say" she murmured as she closed the other lights in the apartment "It really is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness"

A/N

I wondered what "Doctor Quinzel" did when the Joker was out of Arkham, before she became Harley. This was the result of that wondering.


End file.
